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by scullywolf



Series: TXF: Scenes in Between [75]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Gen, MSR, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:26:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5008267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf





	Home

_“If the mother’s alive, they probably took her with them.”_

“All right, Mulder. I think we’ve seen enough here. Let’s go back to the sheriff’s office.”

He took a final glance around the squalid room, grimacing, then nodded. “Lead the way.”

The evidence bag holding the bloody scissors crinkled in his pocket as they made their way outside. They were taking a risk, leaving without officially documenting the scene -- the scissors, by themselves, would not be sufficient evidence to convict anyone in court -- but judging by the general state of the house, Mulder didn’t think there was too much danger of the Peacock boys scrubbing the place down, if they were even still in the area. He let the screen door bang shut behind him and followed his partner down the front steps. It was hard not to recoil as they passed the severed pig’s head again and a cloud of flies arose, buzzing.

Mulder cleared his throat to keep from gagging. “Don’t forget, we need to write down the VIN on the Caddy.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” was the calm reply, and she waved the notebook she’d pulled from her pocket while he was distracted by the pig’s head.

She stopped to peer through the windshield, and he continued past her, opening the driver’s side door. “They didn’t start putting VINs on the dash til 1969,” he said, squatting down to look on the door post. “This car’s gotta be a ‘62, maybe ‘63.”

He reached a hand up, and she wordlessly passed him her notebook and pen. Once he’d recorded the number, he stood and handed them back before shutting the door.

“I had no idea you knew so much about cars,” she mused.

“Cars in general, not so much. But what kind of Elvis fan would I be if I didn’t have a thorough knowledge of the King’s Caddy collection?” He winked, and she rolled her eyes.

***

They caught Sheriff Taylor on his way out the door. He sighed when he saw them.

After they told him what they’d seen at the Peacock house, he sighed again. “All right. I’ll see what I can do about tracking down accurate descriptions of the boys. Can’t rightly say I even know their full names. There’ll be records though, somewhere. Probably.”

For a moment, Mulder saw the defeated look of a man whose sleepy, small-town life had been irreparably tainted by the darker side of human nature, the side that made you lock your doors at night and look over your shoulder walking down the street. It was the look of innocence being shattered, of a man recognizing a turning point from which things could never go back to the way they were before. 

Then the moment passed, and the mask of stoic professionalism returned to Sheriff Taylor’s face.

“Right. I’ll get that taken care of. Probably take me a couple hours, but I’ll give you a call over at the motel when I’m done. Which room you in again?”

“One-oh-five,” Mulder told him. “Oh and, uh, could you recommend somewhere around here to get dinner?”

“Well, seein’s how Millie’s is the only restaurant in town, I’d say that’s your best bet,” he said dryly. “The food’s good, though, don’t you worry.”

***

Millie’s, no great surprise, served typical comfort food, diner-style fare. Though grateful that his appetite hadn’t been completely ruined by the afternoon’s horror show, Mulder still found himself shying away from pork chops in favor of the steak. Scully ordered a beef and barley stew that came with a slab of cornbread the size of Mulder’s fist.

It was, of course, impossible for him to resist making the completely expected “Home cooking” joke, to which his partner dutifully responded with rolled eyes and an indulgent chuckle.

“I don’t know, Mulder. I’d never say this to her face, but I think this might almost be _better_ than my mother’s recipe.”

He affected a scandalized expression, which made her laugh for real.

***

Back at the motel, his stomach pleasantly full, Mulder opened the door to his room and flicked on the light, toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his jacket nearly before Scully had made it through the door behind him. He pretended not to notice her brief, appraising glance as he rolled up his shirtsleeves; it was something she’d started doing, just every now and again, and he knew that if he said anything, she would stop. Maybe it wasn’t strictly professional, but he couldn’t honestly say that he minded in the slightest. He turned away and hid a grin as she walked over to the room’s small table, pulled out her notebook, and sat.

On occasions like this one, when they were expecting a call from local law enforcement, it had become their custom to wait together in one room or the other, going over their notes from the day and sometimes debating theories about the case. This time, instead of taking up his expected place near the table, Mulder crossed to the TV and turned it on, wincing at the sound of static before quickly turning the volume knob to zero. He began clicking through the channels, frowning when the reception was equally poor on each of them.

Scully turned in her chair. “What are you doing?”

“Knicks-Celtics game starts in five minutes. Figured I’d watch while we wait for the good sheriff to call, but it looks like it’ll take some work to even find the signal.”

As if on cue, the phone rang, startling them both. Shaking her head, Scully answered it.


End file.
